


Alone Together

by Carabin (Corveille)



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Spoilers, Walrider Miles Upshur, looking out for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corveille/pseuds/Carabin
Summary: Miles was stuck in this god forsaken Aslyum and he was trying desperately to escape, he runs into what appears to be a Murkoff patient, little did he know it was Waylon Park the one who led him to the Mount Massive Asylum.
Relationships: Waylon Park & Miles Upshur
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46
Collections: Fluff Gift Exchange





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TNKT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TNKT/gifts).



> So as this was an event to do fluff in our server, I decided to play on hardcore mode and try to make something fluffy for Outlast.
> 
> I don't know if I succeeded, but I can only hope you enjoy this little fic TNKT! (And the other one soon to follow).
> 
> [And thank you so much to [Sunkiller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunkiller44) and [Greed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingkirkwall) for beta reading.] 
> 
> Enjoy.

Miles presses his back to the wooden frame next to a wall, crouching low under the glass window. He tucks his camera closer to his chest and covers his mouth with his free hand. He hears the chains rattle loudly as the huge man walks into the room with slow but strong footsteps that makes Miles’ skin crawl.

He thought he’d gotten rid of that behemoth for good. He’s been running all over this Asylum for hours, how is it he keeps bumping into this fucker again?

Miles can hear the variant breathe, lungs wheezing air through a deformed nose. It reminds him of a bull, angry and ready to kill anything that so much as moves.

“Where are you, little pig?”

The clanking of the chains comes to a sudden stop as Walker pauses and lets out a low, raspy hum. It sounds too close for Miles’ comfort, the dread of not knowing where, exactly, this variant is killing him. Tempting fate, Miles dares to peak out of the corner of the frame.

The room is like a black hole, one that seems to suck in all the light coming from the hallways. But that’s not what makes Miles freeze up.

The variant is directly in front of Miles with his back turned to him, forming a looming silhouette that blocks the door leading to the other hall. Miles’ grip on his camera shakes as he realizes _he needs to go in there._

Walker’s head surely turns in his direction and Miles scrambles to get behind cover again. His hand slams on the floor as he crawls backwards, and he has to stop himself from letting out a scream. The cuts left by that maniac doctor, by God damn Trager, send trails of fire through his arm.

He’s not strong enough, and a small hiss leaves his lips.

“Found you.” _Shit_.

The camera almost slips from his hand as Miles races down the hall. The sound of footsteps getting closer rings in his ears, he can feel his heart pounding under his ribcage. He’s been feeding on the adrenaline rush but as it is, he’s not sure how much more of this his body can take.

Miles' body slams against a door to open it and he closes it with a kick, turning the lock. It won’t stop him, he knows it won’t but it will slow Walker down, enough for Miles to find somewhere to hide.

He goes to search the room when his eyes freeze on the other person in the room. A man dresses like the patients Miles has seen all around stares back at him like a deer caught on headlights. One hand clutching a messed up leg, still bleeding through his clothes though that doesn’t make a difference. There’s blood all over him, even in his hair. The other hand is pointing a camera directly at Miles. His nails dig into the plastic of his own camcorder. The sight makes Miles want to scream his frustration out.

Another variant, _he can’t deal with that right now._

“You,” the variant says before pausing, stumbling over his words, “you—you are…”

Not another one that calls Miles the priest’s pet, For the love of God he’s had enough of that.

Both of them jump as the door behind Miles shakes. The force Walker puts into each strike is enough that Miles can feel the vibrations coming from the ground.

A hand grabs Miles’s wrist, he doesn’t have enough time to wrestle free before the variant is leading him away into another room.

The variant limps at a pace that seems painfully slow to Miles. As the variant closes the door to the new room, Miles hears a loud creak as the other door from the room they were just in comes off its hinges. 

Miles sees the locker standing next to a desk but before he can go the variant calls out.

“No, through the window.” The variant whispers and points to the gap left in the broken glass, big enough for a person to fit through. As the footsteps become louder on the other side of the door Miles doesn’t think to risk it and steps over the shards left on the frame, quickly jumping down. 

The variant follows soon after when the banging starts again; gritting his teeth as broken shards of glass cut into his bare feet. He ducks down and brings Miles with him just as the door to the room bursts open. Miles feels a hand press down on his mouth but the variant is not looking at him, pressing his body against the small wall and keeping his right ear to it.

“Little pig…”

Miles hears the locker’s door open as Walker looks around for him and feels thankful that this patient was smart enough to guess what Miles in his panic wouldn’t have. With only one locker in the whole room, it’s the first place Walker would have looked in.

Miles does his best to breathe in slowly and short puffs through his nose when Walker gets closer, he feels how the variant next to him grips his mouth tighter.

Neither of them moves.

Miles hears a loud huff, before Walker turns around and walks out of the room. After a few minutes the door slams somewhere at the end of the hallway and Miles’s body goes limp as he realizes the two are finally alone.

The variant takes his hand off Miles and whispers.

“He’s gone for now.”

“Yeah,” Miles says through a cough as he’s finally able to breathe in, “thanks for that.” 

But the variant just shakes his head and Miles notices that this patient is... not like the rest he’s encountered. This one seems to know what he’s doing, he’s more lucid than others Miles’ seen.

“Don’t—don’t, it’s the least I can do” the variant says and bumps his head against the wall, letting out a deep sigh. Miles’ eyes go back to the camera the variant is holding languidly in his hand. Could almost be the same model as his, where the hell did a variant find a camera in this place? Though, a better question would be, why would he hold on to it this long?

Miles’ own camera beeps, signaling low battery, and Miles curses low under his breath. He ran out spares an hour ago, and he doubts he can find any in this area when half of it is on fire. _Just how the hell is he going to—_

“Here,” the variant grabs his attention and shows Miles two small batteries. His eyes grow wide when he sees the state of Miles’ hands, with fewer fingers that they should have.

“Oh God, are you—?”

 _“Fine,”_ even if the pain is firing up again and unbearable. Miles hesitates, just for a second, but when the variant does little to stop him he grabs both and changes one into his camera.

“You are not one of them, are you?” Miles asks because everything he’s seen so far doesn’t add up with the deranged people he’s bumped into.

“No, I work—used to work for Murkoff.” The variant—the man pauses and looks back at Miles. “and you, you are Miles Upshur, right?” 

“How do you know my name?” Miles craws farther away from the man. The email said that people could be watching his source, but for Murkoff to have known all along he’d come in here so quickly...

“I guess I would know, since I’m the one that threw this mess at you…” so this man was the one that sent him that email through a dummy account. The man’s hands run messily through his disheveled hair as his voice grows more nervous. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t—if I have known this is how it would go I’d have never contacted you. I wasn’t trying to set you up I swear I was just…”

He goes quiet and brings his knees up, wrapping his arm around them. The image is so god damn pathetic that the rage Miles had been building until then crumbles. They are both exhausted, a fucking mess and with more layers of psychological trauma than any other men could tolerate.

At this point...

Maybe he’s got a reason to hate this man, but he can’t forget he was the one stupid enough to come up here alone, all because of his curiosity.

But at this point he’s more worried about getting out of this place alive than holding some meagre grudge. It’s not like it’d do him any good, as far as Miles cares the two are already in hell.

“What’s your name?” Miles asks as he checks his camera. The man stops hiding his face in his hands and flinches minimally as the lenses click back into place. 

“Waylon Park, why?”

Miles’ lips twitch into a tight smile.

“So I know who I’m going to _sue_ when we get out of this damn place.”

Waylon contemplates Miles in muted silence for a moment, he blinks back at the reporter before scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”

“Do you have any family?”

Waylon averts his gaze and looks down to the bloodied floor.

“My wife Lisa and my two sons,” he chokes out, “I need to get back to them, no matter what.”

“Then we are after the same thing.” Miles says as he tries to get up. “I don’t know about you but I’ve had enough of this fucking Asylum, for the rest of my life.”

He looks down at Waylon’s blood stained leg.

“Can you run?” Waylon uses his good leg and gets up on his own.

“I can...do my best to limp away,” Waylon’s shoulders shake as a chuckle escapes him.

“A man with a broken leg and another one with broken hands,” he murmurs.

“Seems like a match.”

“I don’t know where to go and with that monster roaming the halls…” Waylon trails off, limping after Miles as he walks to the next hallway and looks around the corner.

Without looking at Waylon, he whispers.

“I need to get the sprinkler system going so I can get to that fucking _‘Father’_.”

“The priest?” Waylon asks, “why him?”

“He has the key that can get us out of this hellhole.” And oh how much Miles _wants_ to cave Martin’s face in for keeping him from getting out. Waylon might not have known what hell was in store for him, but that Father doesn’t have that excuse.

“So here’s the plan, we put out the fire, grab the key and run like hell.” He puts his hand on Waylon’s shoulder, despite the pain. Miles isn’t sure he could make it out alone, but they might have a better chance if they work together. This place has ruined Miles’ trust, but they both have the same goal, they both want to see the light of day, far away from here.  
  
He’s willing to take that risk, one last time.

“We watch each other’s back and we get out of here. Together.” Miles says and means it.

“Together,” Waylon repeats and for the first time since Miles saw him, there’s an air of hope in the man’s eyes.

* * *

Waylon limps his way through the reception. The sight of the corpses lingering on the floor doesn’t faze him, not anymore. He’s so close to freedom, he can feel the fresh air rushing to his lungs. He can see the front doors and the morning sun just a few feet away from where he is.

“Mi—” He tries to say before a cough cuts him off. He breathes in, tries again. “Miles?”

They’ve gotten separated, the thing, the nanocloud—Walrider did this. He doesn’t know what happened exactly. His head pulsed as static filled in his ears, and the floor under his feet collapsed. He landed on his bad leg and blacked out from the pain. When he woke up, he was alone again.

But Miles had the key, and from what Waylon remembers and the elevator was open when he tried to use it.

He can only hope Miles got out before him. 

As Waylon reaches the open door he sees him, the man and reason he almost died in this asylum, heaving and slumped against the doorframe. His muscles shake with the combination of fear and anger as static creeps on the back of his head. Waylon feels a weight behind him, but he knows there should be nothing there.

_We watch each other’s back._

Something soft whispers into his mind and it is as if a veil falls over Waylon, one that gives him new found strength. He doesn’t feel afraid. No matter what happens, he has to get out of here for Lisa, for his kids.

Waylon feels the ghost of a hand on his shoulder, but it doesn’t make his heart freeze up in fear. The presence almost feels comforting as it gives a light _push._ He looks back at the doors and the dying figure of Jeremy Blaire, the one that caused all of this, that led him to so much suffering.

Waylon takes a step forward. They had made a promise; they are going to get out of here—

_together_

—together.


End file.
